Hung Over
by Prosper-the-XVIII
Summary: Johnny English/James Bond crossover one-shot. Two Secret Service officials. One New Year's Eve party. One long-running mutual hatred. And one hell of a lot of booze. What could possibly go wrong? Well, just about everything.


**This is technically a James Bond/Johnny English crossover. I just wanted to see what might happen when you combine M, Pegasus and one hell of a lot of alcohol.**

* * *

"Right, could someone please explain how the hell this happened again?" When she had grudgingly accepted her invitation to the MI6 office New Year's Eve party, the last place Pegasus had expected to end up was the medical room of the MI6 headquarters. Pegasus glowered at M, who was sat beside her. God, she really hated that woman. She didn't know why. A combination of bad first meeting and the fact that MI6 and MI7 by definition never really saw eye to eye. It was really an unwritten rule.

Both M and Pegasus were looking about as undignified as was humanly possible, considering their impossible high statuses among the Secret Service. Less than ten minutes ago two of the most politically high-up women in the UK and potentially all of western Europe had been drunkenly scrapping on the floor. M considered this to be behavior typical of James Bond; degrading and shameful on her part, maybe, but tolerable. Pegasus would have happily shot herself in the head rather than deliberately done what she had a few minutes ago, had she not been so drunk that she could barely see three feet in front of her. M was a bit better; maybe a few shots behind Pegasus, who was pretty much at the trying-to-snog-the-wall-with-her-knickers-around-her-ankles stage. Still, both women could expect to have one hell of a hangover come tomorrow morning. But that was what was to come. What was happening now would have been pretty embarrassing if they had been alone. But it had happened in front of about thirty people, most of whom worked under M, with the exception of Johnny English, who was effectively MI7's idiotic equivalent of James Bond.  
Pegasus looked as if she was bleeding horribly, but in truth she just had red wine spilled all down her front. She and M had gotten into a stupid argument over pretty much nothing, but it had escalated from there and the end result had among other things left Pegasus with the broken stem of a champagne flute sticking out of her shoulder, a bleeding lip and a few scratches raked across her face. M, on the other hand, was virtually unscathed. How, Pegasus didn't know, but she was. Right, her hair was a little messed up, and she was showing the faintest signs of a bloody nose, but looked a damn sight better than Pegasus. It had kind of been a little unfair; M and her slightly out of practice 28 years of field training, against Pegasus, whose status was inherited; she had had no experience in the field, but, stature-wise, still had the best part of a foot over M. Both were glaring from each other to the first aider stood in front of them. "Well..." Pegasus began...

_"Pamela, what the hell are you doing?" M said, her voice maybe a little slurred, watching Pegasus's pathetic attempt at hitting it off with Mallory. The head of one of the most prestigious organisations in western civilization had make-up smeared across her face, and her hand was down Mallory's trousers. Mallory however seemed to be enjoying it; he was snogging Pegasus's face off, and by the looks of things had given her a love bite on the side of her neck. M wasn't bothered about him; she could give him shit tomorrow when she was hung over and in a mood, but she was just getting on M's nerves by now; this was the third person she had tried to make out with, the wall not included, in the space of an hour. Pegasus grudgingly turned round, glass of wine in hand, a bit uneasy on her feet, slightly cross-eyed and completely off her face. "What?" She said, grinning stupidly at M. M stayed solid, glaring at her. "Is a girl not allowed to have fun anymore? Or are you just jealous?"  
"Jealous my arse, Pamela. Would you have a little dignity?"  
"Y'know, Evelyn, dignity never got anyone a guy."  
"Pah, you're forty three years old, stop acting like a teenager!"  
"Who died and put you in charge? And it's not like you're getting any younger; you're old enough to be my bloody gran! Look, loosen your corset, have a drink-"  
And with that, M completely lost it and slugged Pegasus across the face. Pegasus gasped as the red wine in the glass she had been holding spilled all down the front of her silk shirt and blood from her burst lip sprayed all over the place. "Oh, so you want to do that?" Pegasus raised an eyebrow, got her arms around M's waist and tackled her to the ground. M let out a short, sharp scream , and kicked Pegasus in the face. They scrapped on the floor for a few minutes, amid several calls of "Bitch fight!" and "Someone stop them from killing each other!" , until Pegasus got M into an arm lock. Johnny English and James Bond were stood behind them. "I suggest stopping them before Pegasus breaks her arm." English turned to the 00, and he nodded. But by that point it was a bit late. M had found the broken stem of Pegasus's wineglass, picked it up, and before anyone had the chance to do anything, she had stuck it into Pegasus's upper arm. _

_Each felt their top agent's hands pull them up under the armpits. And they both knew that they had screwed up big-time._

__"Yeah," M cut Pegasus off. "The less you know the better."


End file.
